


A Last Redemption

by Ammonsa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship/Love, Gen, Hope, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:31:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammonsa/pseuds/Ammonsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Voldemort's final moments, reflections, and journey to the afterlife. Can he find peace?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Last Redemption

A Last Redemption

I do not own Harry Potter, nor any characters associated with it.

The world exploded into madness as the last hope of a dying race fell to his knees.  
Or maybe it just exploded for him.

He, the Dark Lord, fallen at the hands of a boy, a boy with an undefinable quality that led to his victory. They would all call it love, but the Dark Lord knew better. The great fool, Dumbledore, called it his, “One great weakness.” Until now, he never considered the idea that he held any weaknesses. His horcruxes were meant to halt the common weakness shared by all living things, and he succeeded with that, until the boy destroyed them. He was the most powerful wizard alive, the smartest, the most accomplished in all of history.

And yet he fell to his knees, bested by Harry Potter. The prophesised “Chosen One,” according to the papers. The one that survived a killing curse twice, protected by the magic of “Love”.

The Dark Lord considered the fact that Harry Potter was standing before him, very much alive, while he was falling to the ground, dying. 

He gasped at the return of feeling to his body in his last moment before death. He hadn’t felt this way since before he created his horcruxes, coldness and pain shuddered through his body, he smelt blood and smoke around him, enveloping him in a shroud of sensory perception the likes of which he had lost for many years. After he had created his horcruxes, his perceptions had been muted, he could only feel this intensely when he was in the process of the darkest of actions, torturing his victims and performing rituals of power the likes of which should have protected him from the inevitability he faced currently. 

And yet this was the most delicious irony, he pondered, that at his very moment of dying he would feel more alive than he had for many years.

As the blackness took over, his eyes losing vision to blissful dark, he noted that for the first time, he had thought of his victims as...victims. Voldemort felt something within him that he couldn’t identify, something he heard of in accounts from others, but never directly experienced.

Regret.

He scoffed at the momentary thought. He had never doubted his ideology before, he had never regretted causing pain, death, and torment to others. He was the Dark Lord, the muggles were bugs to be exterminated, and any sympathisers were to be strongly discouraged. His cause was always to ensure thre welfare of wizards as a people. The weak must be culled from the herd, the muggleborns, those diluting the ancient bloodlines, must be destroyed.

‘You don’t truly think that, do you, Tom?’

The darkness gave way to a blinding light, and he saw a bearded figure standing in front of him, his eyes looking down upon the Dark Lord with a mixture of amusement and pity. The Dark Lord glared up at Albus Dumbledore as he stood up, noting his lack of clothes. With a thought, robes dark as night appeared, covering his body. Dumbledore chuckled at this, ‘Your power might be beyond comparison, as you so think, but your fashion sense leaves much to be desired. Might I suggest some improvements?’

The Dark Lord hissed at the old man, ‘Even in death I have no respite from your inane comments. I would sooner be go unclothed before I took into account your clothing choices’ The fuschia robes were truly awful. ‘Tell me why you are here, what do you need from me now that your puppet has finished the job you began?’

Dumbledore observed the Dark Lord somberly, ‘Harry is not my puppet, but his own man, grown into one capable of great feats of love and sacrifice, two things you have never experienced, Tom.’  
The Dark Lord laughed at the idea of sacrificing something for another person in a bitter tone, while Dumbledore continued, ‘As to why I am here, I don’t think I can answer that, it is a question you should be asking yourself.

The blinding light surrounding them gave way to clarity, to an orphanage, to which the Dark Lord hissed in disgust. He finds himself standing in the room he lived in as a youth, while Dumbledore promptly sat down on his bed. Dumbledore said, ‘This scene looks all too familiar. You do remember that first time I came here, when I told you that you are a wizard, do you not?’

The Dark Lord seethed at the old man. ‘Of course I remember, but why have you taken us here? Why would I want to remember this place?’

Dumbledore smiled patiently at his old student, looking upon him benevolently as if he was a small child. ‘I can’t tell you that, you brought us here, this is your afterlife.’

Comprehension dawned on the Dark Lord’s face, an expression of horror marring his already disfigured face. ‘You can’t mean to tell me that this is where I will spend eternity, in this hell.’ At this, Dumbledore ceased smiling, his face set firmly. ‘Do you really think you deserve better? You let this place rule your life. You never truly left it, for you spent your entire life fleeing from love, from friendship, from what makes us human. You strived to escape death for your entire life, but you only truly lived in that last moment before your demise.’ Dumbledore stood up and approached him. ‘It took your imminent destruction to experience life, just for that brief instance. Can you truly say you would do everything the same way if you had to start your life again? Can you truly say your life was more accomplished then the scores of people you murdered? In their short lives, they experienced more, they achieved more than you achieved in your seventy odd years alive.’

The Dark Lord was struck by the absolute sincerity with which Dumbledore spoke. He pondered the words for a period of time, unable to determine whether he was there for several minutes, or several thousand years, or whether time mattered in this place.

At last, he spoke. ‘You are right. I would not live my life the same way again. But it is far too late to do anything about that, what point is there in me attempting repentance now that my life is already over?’

The wardrobe in the room shook, barely perceptible.

‘But don’t you see, Tom? It is never too late, you’ve already made the first step!’ Dumbledore grabbed his shoulders, facing him, his eyes burning with a hope the Dark Lord had never seen the like of. ‘Listen to me, heed my words. You, Tom Riddle, your potential was unmatched, you could have been far greater than any wizard, greater than me, greater than your ancestor, Salazar, greater than Merlin himself! You threw it away by chasing immortality, instead of using the time you had to achieve great things, to lead us into a new age. Do you acknowledge your pursuit was folly?’

The Dark Lord nodded, struck dumb by the power behind the words. Dumbledore shook him, ‘Say the words, accept it in your heart.’

‘I was not great. I could have been.’

The wardrobe shook harder, as if there was a boggart inside, trying to break free. The Dark Lord didn’t notice it, too obsessed with this self revelation.

‘You caused misery to others, you killed them while you were trying to escape the very same fate!’ Dumbledore’s eyes blazed with a passion, hope shining through.

‘I am a hypocrite, I shouldn’t have killed or caused pain to the many victims of my ego.’

The wardrobe shook even harder, enough that the Dark Lord turned to look at it before Dumbledore grabbed his attention once more.

‘Your greatest weakness was love, and it was that weakness that led to your defeat. If you had loved, you would have never become Lord Voldemort.’ Dumbledore’s words became louder, the room shook with the power behind the words. ‘Say it, say it!’

The Dark Lord struggled against this, he struggled to comprehend what was being said. He was stranded in a raging sea with nowhere to hold onto, Dumbledore looking on with more hope than he dared to have in a long time.

‘I...can’t. Even if it’s true, even if I know it to be...You know I can’t.’ Even acknowledging this much physically hurting him, his hands clenched together, his head erupting in agony, his heart tightening and causing him to gasp.

‘Tom, you can do this, you are one of the most powerful individuals in history. Turn it into inner strength.’

The Dark Lord grasped Dumbledores hand, using it to anchor himself in the raging sea that became of his thoughts. He thought back on all the years he spent in the living world, he thought back on Harry Potter, on the boy’s friendships, how he laughed, how he felt his joy, his wonder at living, his pure and unbridled love to those around him, through the mind link they once shared. The windows shattered in the orphanage, the walls started crumbling. 

He screamed as his skin began to boil, ‘I am Lord Voldemort, Master of Magics never heard of, discoverer of the Darkest Arts, the only one to ever create more than one horcrux! I am the Dark Lord, I am feared and reviled, I am the most powerful wizard to grace the world!’

‘You are nothing.’

At those words his skin began dripping off, the pain unbearable. He knew what Dumbledore said was true. 

‘I am nothing!’ He wailed as his skin dripped off forming puddles on the ground. ‘I am nothing!’ ‘I am nothing!’

Dumbledore gestured to the wardrobe that was still shaking intensely. ‘Open the wardrobe, Tom.’

The Dark Lord moved towards the wardrobe, screaming in anguish with each step. He opens the wardrobe, finding seven small figures, curled up, hideous and nude, mutilated, their skin flayed and their bodies destroyed. He recognised them for what they were.

‘It’s rather like looking into a mirror, isn’t it, Tom?’ Dumbledore gazed somberly upon them. He conjured up a mirror for the Dark Lord to look at himself in. As he saw his reflection, identical to the bodies in the wardrobe, tears streamed down his face. He finally realised what he had become. 

The horcruxes moved towards him, becoming part of his body once more, rejoining the small fragment left of his soul in his body. As each one became a part of him once more, his body started changing, looking more and more like the body he possessed before creating the horcruxes. Finally, he stood up and faced Dumbledore.

‘If I could go back, I would love. I would not become Lord Voldemort.’

The orphanage disappeared, and they stood before the entrance hall of Hogwarts.

The doors opened, inviting them in. Dumbledore smiled at Tom with tears flowing openly down his face as he gestured inside.

‘Welcome home, Tom.’


End file.
